The hospital room still smelled faintly of antiseptic and iron when Aaron finally forced himself to stand. His bandaged side ached with every breath, a painful reminder of how close George Foyet—the Reaper—had come to ending his life. He didn’t need Gideon’s old lectures or Rossi’s experience to tell him what this meant. Foyet wasn’t done. He would go after what Aaron valued most. And that meant you. And Jack.

Hotch’s eyes burned as he looked at the bloodstained shirt folded in the evidence bag across the room. The Reaper knew him now—inside and out. Foyet had always preyed on fear, exploiting love and vulnerability. He had targeted Aaron’s family before, forcing him into impossible choices, and now the threat was no longer just an unspoken possibility. It was real, immediate, and looming over everything.

The BAU team was already working, analyzing every trace of Foyet’s reappearance. Morgan was studying Foyet’s movements, trying to predict his next strike. Rossi was urging Hotch to step back, to let the team handle the case without him clouded by personal stakes. Garcia had her fingers flying across keyboards, tracing digital footprints that slipped like smoke. Yet none of it mattered until you and Jack were safe.

Hotch stood in the quiet of Jack’s bedroom later that night, the small boy curled under a blanket patterned with rockets and stars. He traced a hand along the edge of the bed frame, his jaw tight as a vice. The shadows seemed too long, the silence too heavy. Every creak of the house sounded like a threat. He couldn’t risk leaving you and Jack exposed—not now, not when Foyet was out there, watching, waiting.

The decision came like a blow. Witness protection. It was the only way to ensure you and Jack were untouchable while he and the team hunted Foyet down. He hated it—hated the thought of you packing up your life, of Jack waking in a strange place asking why Daddy wasn’t there—but there was no other option.

You stood in the doorway as agents arrived with sealed instructions and relocation protocols. Your face was pale, shaken, but you didn’t argue. You knew as well as Hotch did what Foyet was capable of. Every movement of packing felt like a countdown, a quiet panic rising with the realization that this monster had pulled your family apart without even being in the room.

Hotch didn’t let it show, but it was tearing him apart. He had already lost so much—Gideon’s departure, You, the innocence of his son’s early years—and now you were walking out of the house under armed escort, Jack clinging to your shoulder, half-asleep but still murmuring for his father. Hotch couldn’t follow. He had to stand there, watching, every instinct screaming at him to hold you both and never let go.

That night, alone in the dimly lit BAU office, Hotch stared at the photos on the evidence board. The Reaper’s smile. The coded messages. The shadows of every life he’d destroyed. The walls around him seemed to close in, but his resolve hardened like steel.

Foyet had declared war, and Hotch would not rest until it was finished. No hesitation. No mercy. He would stop the Reaper, whatever it took. Because you and Jack were all that remained of his heart, and he would walk through fire before letting that man touch either of you.